


He whose face gives no light

by AnguaLupin



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Sad Blowjobs, the many and varied issues of grantaire, the melancholy of jean prouvaire, warning: Romanticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnguaLupin/pseuds/AnguaLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Grantaire sat on the bench next to him, close enough to tell that the stillness was a facade. Within Prouvaire trembled a rage so deep it could drown the streets of Paris.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Prouvaire's days are filled with Romanticism and politics</p><p>Grantaire's days are filled with trying not to hate himself too much</p><p>occasionally they bang</p>
            </blockquote>





	He whose face gives no light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nisiedraws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisiedraws/gifts).



Grantaire found Prouvaire at the Musée de Luxembourg, sitting in front of _Massacre at Chios_.

“I saw a woman lying in an alleyway,” Prouvaire said. His eyes did not move from the painting. “She was dead. Her babe clutched her breast and cried. I thought, _I have seen this before_ , but I thought the painting did not include the passerbys who passed by, and turned their faces away.” He was still, and his breath came steady. “I was right.”

Grantaire sat on the bench next to him, close enough to tell that the stillness was a facade. Within Prouvaire trembled a rage so deep it could drown the streets of Paris.

“My teacher, Gros, once said that this painting was a massacre of art,” Grantaire said, trying for lightness.

“Your teacher would have us turn our eyes to the great man and be blind to all else, as he is,” Prouvaire said. He was not in a mood to be swayed by lightness, and his incisiveness always did cut too deep.

“Turning our eyes to great men would require us to have eyes, whereas Paris is filled with Graeae, lucky to have one eye for every three persons," Grantaire said, maintaining the lightness of his tone, if nothing else. "We might count ourselves fortunate in their blindness, for to see too clearly would make us a nation of great men, and then France would die as a rocky island frequented only by fishermen. You cannot see for all of us, Prouvaire, you would take the broach-pin to your eyes.”

But Prouvaire never was blind to what he provoked, and knew Grantaire too well. When Prouvaire turned to look at him, Grantaire looked at the painting, as Prouvaire was not, so he would not have to see the mingled pity and frustration in his friend’s eyes.

“Where is the child?” Grantaire asked, not above deflection.

The muscles in Prouvaire’s jaw rippled as he ground his teeth. “At the Necker,” he said. “I was lucky, Combeferre was on duty, and took him. He might survive the night.”

He did not need to mention the odds of the child surviving for longer than that.

Grantaire stood up. “Come, if we must be blind, let us make the one-eyed man king, of our trousers at least, even if he be a snake.” The tension in Prouvaire’s shoulders did not ease, but he suffered himself to be led away. 

 

“The abyss yawns at our feet and we do not see it.” Prouvaire shoved Grantaire against the wall, his hands tearing at Grantaire’s cravat. Grantaire hurriedly unbuttoned his waistcoat, before Prouvaire moved down to that. It was an expensive waistcoat, and unlike Prouvaire, Grantaire did not have a rich father back in Provence. “We teeter on its precipice and say, what fine air there is up here, and all the while the rocks slip beneath our feet.” He ripped Grantaire’s shirt open, and Grantaire had a brief moment to be grateful for his foresight in saving his waistcoat as the shirt buttons pinged across the room. “When we fall we will comment wittingly on the quality of the darkness as it consumes us.” Prouvaire unbuttoned Grantaire’s trousers and curled his hand around Grantaire’s prick, moving in counterpoint to his teeth on Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire’s hands faltered where they were attempting to undress Prouvaire as his head slammed back against the wall.

“If we don’t make it to a bed there won’t be much _consuming_ ,” Grantaire managed to gasp out, and Prouvaire rewarded him with a particularly vicious twist of his hand.

“We are all consumed,” Prouvaire whispered into his ear, and Grantaire came with a muffled shout.

They stumbled over to the bed, and Grantaire slid down Prouvaire’s body to take his prick in his mouth, as Prouvaire buried his hands in his hair and hissed. “All is darkness,” Prouvaire said, and came down his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) The painting in question is by Eugène Delacroix (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Massacre_at_Chios), and is considered to be one of the foundational works of Romanticism
> 
> 2) Antoine-Jean Gros really did call _Massacre at Chios_ a 'massacre of art'
> 
> 3) Antoine-Jean Gros had almost as many issues as Grantaire
> 
> 4) and also was a) Neo-Classical to the end; and b) obsessed with Napoleon
> 
> 5) Napoleon died on St. Helena, which can be accurately described as 'a rocky island frequented only by fisherman'
> 
> 6) The Graeae (sometimes called the 'grey sisters') were three water spirits who had one eye and one tooth between them, seen in the legend of Perseus
> 
> 7) 'you would take the broach-pin to your eyes' is a reference to Oedipus, who blinded himself with pins from Jocasta's dress after the whole marrying-his-mother affair
> 
> 8) Nisie asked for 'Grantaire, Prouvaire, and art' and I know absolutely nothing about art so I apologize profusely for using what is probably the most famous Romantic painting of them all and also cribbing mightily from wikipedia
> 
> 9) Many thanks to tenlittlebullets for help with Grantairing


End file.
